


love is still the answer

by flootzavut



Series: take my hand [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Character, Blanket Permission, Episode Spoilers, Episode: s01e06 The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to more, M/M, Romance, Tiny bit of Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, aspec characters, cuteness, look it's just soft okay, queer, what do you want from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: "Aziraphale should like to gather Crowley close, dote on him a bit, but isn't quite able to make himself be so forward. In lieu of a grander gesture, he sets his book aside and favours Crowley with all his attention."





	love is still the answer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alleyesonthehindenburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/gifts).



> for general beta reading and awesomeness; also for being a terrible influence, for which thank you, and to the folks at the Ritz for the latter ♥️
> 
> Title from The Prophet's Song, by Queen (natch)

* * *

_**love is still the answer**_

* * *

"Angel?"

Aziraphale looks up. It may be odd to dive into a book the day of a failed apocalypse (and with the expectation hanging over them that tomorrow or the day after, or someday soon, Heaven and Hell will come for them both), but it's comforting. When Crowley yawned hugely and announced he wanted to sleep, reading was the only thing Aziraphale could think of to distract himself; he's just grateful Crowley _has_ a few books, even if they're mostly about gardening. (He's also glad Crowley insisted on sleeping in his own corporation. Snake eyes are made for hunting, not literature.)

"Yes, my dear?"

Crowley is sweetly rumpled and pouting. (Aziraphale fights the urge to jump up and ruffle his hair.) He was pouting when he went to bed as well, but Aziraphale was too overwhelmed by the day's events to work out why.

He shuffles across the room to stand in front of the sofa where Aziraphale is sitting. "Can't sleep," he announces, then plops himself down next to Aziraphale, an expectant expression on his face. What he expects, Aziraphale isn't sure and is afraid to guess.

Aziraphale should like to gather Crowley close, dote on him a bit, but isn't quite able to make himself be so forward. In lieu of a grander gesture, he sets his book aside and favours Crowley with all his attention.

Whatever is to come, whenever it comes, they saved the world, at least for a while, and became a little less ignorant in the process. It isn't enough for Aziraphale to throw centuries of habit and self-restraint out of the window, but it's enough for him to care an awful lot less about Heaven's opinions on his... friendship with Crowley. (Or on how that friendship might develop if they get out of this mess with their hides intact.) They _are_ on their own side; it's a most liberating thought now that Aziraphale can accept it. (Given time, surely, he'll be able to act on it.)

"Dear," he says for now (he's doing his best), "what's the matter?"

Crowley pulls a face and settles in closer. Goodness, but he's tempting when he's barely an inch away. Does he realise how much? It's in his nature, of course, but that isn't what causes Aziraphale's heart to beat overtime as if he were a human running the hundred yard dash.

It's not that Crowley is a demon; it's that Crowley is _Crowley_. Aziraphale isn't sure if they knew each other before the Fall, but he's certain Crowley was as winsome as an angel as he is now. Aziraphale doesn't even like most angels (which is rather a failure when they're supposed to be one's comrades), but for Crowley, he would make an exception.

Crowley isn't wearing his glasses, and it feels like an expression of trust. He hides his eyes from almost everyone, almost all the time, and not just because humans would be frightened. They're what mark him out as fallen, and despite his rebellious talk, Crowley still hurts from being disowned. It seems he's lost almost all his self-consciousness about them around Aziraphale now, though.

Aziraphale has always found them rather beautiful, oddly hypnotic. He can finally admit that to himself, even if he's not yet brave enough to admit it to Crowley. Crowley's whole face is mobile and expressive, and it's a pleasure to watch him think. Aziraphale has spent so much time studying Crowley that if he were an artist, he could draw the demon from memory. Maybe now he no longer feels beholden to Heaven, he'll learn how.

"I was just," Crowley starts eventually, then shakes his head. "I was... thinking."

"Oh, my. Don't hurt yourself." Aziraphale smiles to soften the joke, but Crowley barely seems to notice it anyway.

"There's stuff I don't want to... I mean, I-" Crowley is having trouble finishing his sentences, and Aziraphale doesn't know the right questions to ask to help him get going again.

"Crowley, dear..."

Then, miraculously, Crowley's hand finds his.

His heart stutters, and he gapes like a particularly stupid goldfish. _Oh, my_. It's so _right_. They held hands on the bus, too, without commenting or explaining, without even making eye contact, though somehow it's different now. Safer, in privacy, but more dangerous, too.

Crowley's hand is dry and cool as he interlaces their fingers; there's no reason for the warmth spreading up Aziraphale's arm or the blush heating his face, except... _Goodness, how I love you_. He wants so badly to say that aloud. He wants to pull Crowley close and kiss him, he wants so _much_. But mostly he wants Crowley to be okay, and he doesn't seem okay at all.

"Crowley?"

Crowley takes a deep, wobbly breath. "If something happens..." He shakes his head. "I'm afraid," he says at last, very quietly.

Aziraphale squeezes his hand. "I am too," he admits, just as quietly.

"I'm scared of what might happen to you." Crowley watches Aziraphale sidelong as he says it, as if he's looking for something specific.

"I am, too," Aziraphale says again. "That is - I mean I'm worried about what Heaven will do to _you_." He shivers. Heaven is good at meting out justice, and doesn't care nearly enough about how _just_ their justice is.

"Oh."

There's another long silence. Given the situation, it's surprisingly comfortable, not awkward, even as Crowley moves almost imperceptibly closer, till inevitably he's snuggled cosily in like a cat seeking attention.

It's far from unheard of - Crowley's cold-blooded, after all, and often gets chilled - but like so much of what's happened today, since the world didn't end, it feels more significant than it ever has before. Crowley leans on Aziraphale's shoulder; Aziraphale can't stop himself from reaching his free hand over to tousle Crowley's hair, and can barely resist dropping a kiss there. It's a quiet, tender moment, and even if Aziraphale wants them to belong undeniably to one another, wants there to be no doubt, to be able to express everything he's tried to hide for so long... this is, oh, _wonderful_ , and much more than he ever dared hope for.

He thinks Crowley's fallen asleep, but then, after quite some time, Crowley asks, "Aziraphale?" His voice is soft, and he sounds unusually uncertain.

"Yes?"

"What would you do-" Crowley swallows nervously before he continues, peering up at Aziraphale from under his eyelashes; Aziraphale squeezes his hand once again in an effort to reassure him. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?" he manages eventually.

Aziraphale blinks. He's an angel, he has perfect hearing, but he still doesn't believe his ears. "Kissed me?" he echoes faintly.

Crowley nods.

"Right now?"

Another nod.

"Is that... is that something you feel you're at all likely to do?" Aziraphale asks.

"Well." Crowley cuts his eyes away; Aziraphale's never seen him this diffident. "Only if I thought you wouldn't mind," he finishes at last.

Aziraphale gulps. He hoped, he couldn't help it, but he never dared expect. They've been teetering on the brink of _something_ for hours. (Or, if Aziraphale is truly honest with himself, decades, centuries, possibly millennia.) The bus journey was exquisite torture, Crowley's hand in his leaving him unable to think of anything else.

But this is not teetering, it's careening, racing towards the edge with gay abandon. It's a graceful, carefree swan dive into the unknown, now it's been spoken aloud, and there's no escaping it.

"I wouldn't mind," Aziraphale says eventually. "I wouldn't mind at all."

Crowley flicks his gaze back to Aziraphale's face, mouth hanging open. He looks genuinely surprised, and really, Aziraphale would roll his eyes except that he has clearly been just as much of an idiot himself.

"In fact," he continues, forcing himself to be brave in the face of this revelation, "I think now it comes to the point, I'd mind awfully if you _didn't_ kiss me."

There's a pause that seems eternal, a smile such as Aziraphale hasn't seen for a little over eleven years (or is it more like six thousand?), then Crowley slips a hand round the back of his neck, tugging him closer. Good gracious, they're actually going to kiss, and Aziraphale's heart pounds in an all-too-human way.

He stops breathing as their lips meet. Admittedly, he doesn't actually need to breathe, but now he's fairly sure he _can't_. It's warm and soft and a bit... scared. Aziraphale pulls Crowley closer, savouring the weight, the long stretch of Crowley's back, the taste of him, and Crowley sprawls over him bonelessly, ever the wily old serpent.

It's entirely instinctive for Aziraphale to tilt his head and lean in, deepening the kiss. He has wanted this so much, for so many years, and he's caught between the desire to rush in headlong and the urge to savour it.

Crowley follows with a gasp of want, but just a little behind, a little slower, and it occurs to Aziraphale that Crowley doesn't like other demons, rarely makes himself vulnerable to anyone (except Aziraphale), much less to humans, and despite his carefully curated image, is not actually a hedonist, nor even a seducer. He may well never have done this before. It's so sweet and sad and charming a thought, Aziraphale could weep.

It started soft, but now he lets it soften even more, lets Crowley set the pace, and it's no hardship; it's tentative, light, but it's still Crowley, it's still Crowley's mouth and lips and teeth and tongue, it's still Crowley letting out little whimpering sighs, it's still Crowley in his arms, it's still Crowley melting into a puddle in his lap, and Aziraphale never dared imagine it could be this good.

When they finally surface, Crowley blinks his eyes several times as if he's awakening from a trance. His pupils are wide black slits bordered by gold, and Aziraphale almost says it aloud, 'you're beautiful, you're so beautiful.'

They stare at each other. Aziraphale is aching to know what Crowley is thinking, but not nearly brave enough to ask, so instead he just watches Crowley's expressions, fascinated and enthralled and a bit pained; Crowley looks both dizzy-eyed and scared. It makes Aziraphale's heart hurt; he needs to let Crowley know it's okay, that it doesn't matter. If Crowley is _his_ , Aziraphale doesn't mind at all what exactly that means. "You haven't done this before, have you?" he asks quietly.

Crowley's eyes go wide.

"It's all right."

"You... have?" Crowley looks dismayed.

"Well. You were asleep at the time," Aziraphale admits sheepishly. _I missed you_.

"The nineteenth century?"

"Yes."

Crowley frowns, then pouts, obviously remembering a very specific dedication in a very particular book. "You mean Wilde?"

"Oscar was _quite_ charming," Aziraphale says, with his best innocent face.

"You told me that didn't mean anything!" The pout deepens, and it's all Aziraphale can do not to lean forwards and take Crowley's plump, perfect bottom lip between his teeth.

"I may have... fibbed a tiny bit."

The play of emotions in Crowley's expression is too complex to make sense of, so Aziraphale watches and waits and hopes. "Oh."

"I didn't know how to... to talk about it," Aziraphale says. "I didn't know where to start."

"Oh," Crowley says again. He gnaws on his lip. (It's exceedingly distracting.)

"Have you done... _any_ of it?"

A touch of pink decorates Crowley's cheekbones. "Define 'it'," he challenges, though his tone of voice is not nearly as confident as his words.

If he thinks Aziraphale is so easily put off, he is sorely mistaken. " _Sex_ , dear boy. Making love. Or kissing - what is that ghastly American phrase? Making out. _Snogging_." He skims his thumb over Crowley's mouth. "Goodness, Crowley, please keep up. We're wasting precious time I could be using to kiss you."

Crowley lets out a high, nervous giggle that doesn't sound at all amused. "I- well technically- in the strictest sense of the word-" He deflates. "No."

"No to...?"

"Any of it," Crowley whispers, embarrassed. Aziraphale's heart does the funny little squeezy thing that happens whenever Crowley is being particularly adorable.

"Well, that's all right," Aziraphale says with a smile. "I can certainly teach you."

Crowley doesn't look reassured. "I don't know if-" He stops short.

"Don't know what?"

"Idon'tknowifIwantto," Crowley mumbles.

If Aziraphale didn't have absolutely flawless auditory faculties, he would be forced to ask Crowley to repeat himself. As it is, he hears it perfectly and it rather breaks his heart. "Oh, my precious pet, I didn't mean it like that. It's quite all right."

"But- but you clearly _do_ want to!"

"Dear boy," Aziraphale says with a laugh, "I don't _care_." Crowley's face falls even further, and Aziraphale realises how that sounded just in time to correct it. "I don't mean that I don't care about you, darling, I care about you terribly much. In fact, one might say I love you. That I'm in love with you." After so much fear, it seems ridiculous that it slips out so easily, in such a matter of fact tone. "That's why I don't care. Because I would rather spend eternity listening to _The Sound of Music_ than be parted from you. Because what we do together doesn't matter to me at all as long as I'm with you." He touches Crowley's jaw, his mouth, marvelling at the simple intimacy of it. "Because, dear one," Aziraphale adds, "kissing you even once is so much more than I ever dared to hope for."

Crowley's still staring up at him, lips slightly parted, pupils so huge and dark they're almost circular. "'Ziraphale," he manages, "Angel..."

"Yes, my dear?"

It seems very much as if Crowley's searching for a response to a question he can't quite ask. Searching Aziraphale's face for something, who knows what, and all Aziraphale can do is look right back and hope Crowley finds what he needs.

"You wouldn't be... disappointed?" Crowley asks at last.

"Oh, my sweet boy," Aziraphale murmurs. "I want _you_. I don't give a fig about the rest of it." Crowley blinks several times; Aziraphale traces the sharp, delicate lines of his cheekbones and nose and chin. He's beautiful. He looks so young and vulnerable like this; it's reminiscent of Eden, when they were - well, ancient, yes, but much less ancient than Aziraphale feels now. "If you ever want to - well, of course, of course we can. It would be a joy and an honour. But-" He shakes his head, tenderly cradling Crowley's body against his own, wrapping him up closely and kissing his hair. "I love you, Crowley. I- I have for rather a long time. I should be just as happy to go on a picnic with you as to make love to you."

"Really?" It's muffled against Aziraphale's waistcoat, but Aziraphale fancies he can hear hope there.

"Of course, you lovely thing."

"Oh." There's a pause. "I did like kissing you."

Aziraphale chuckles. "We can do that as often as you like, dearest."

They stay like that for quite some time. Crowley relaxes into him; Aziraphale strokes his fingers through Crowley's hair. Could he persuade Crowley to grow it long again? He always wants to play with it, regardless of style, but it was so very pretty falling in flame-coloured waves and curls around Crowley's face. (Pulling on it might be fun, too.) _Once we're safe_ , he promises himself. They have so much to catch up on, and (he hopes) an eternity in which to do it.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley asks eventually.

"Yes?"

Crowley looks up. "I love you too, you know."

It isn't, at this point, exactly a surprise; it's more of a relief and a reassurance. Aziraphale laughs rather breathlessly and kisses Crowley's brow. "Oh, my sweetheart."

Crowley laughs too before pulling back, slowly unfolding himself out of Aziraphale's lap. "Well, then," he says once he's upright, holding his hands out. "Are you coming?"

Aziraphale takes Crowley's hands without even a clue of what he's being asked, because he's always had difficulty telling Crowley 'no', and he no longer has the urge to refuse out of propriety. "Where, dear?"

"To bed."

Aziraphale's heart threatens to beat out of his chest, his eyebrows leap up towards his hairline without consulting his brain, and he gapes. "Um."

"What a filthy mind you have, Angel," Crowley says, with a wicked sort of twinkle and a grin. "I'll sleep better if you're there," he explains. "As long as you don't mind me using you as a pillow."

"Oh!" It's almost a relief. There are only so many firsts Aziraphale can deal with in one day. Confessions of love and kissing Crowley on top of saving the world, well, it's all rather a lot. "I don't mind at all. Actually, I'd love it."

"Bring your book." Crowley smiles again as he pulls Aziraphale to his feet, that real smile Aziraphale's missed so much. It comes with an arm around his shoulders and soft lips on his temple. If this is their new status quo, for however long it lasts, Aziraphale is sure no angel has ever been so utterly blessed.

_~ fin ~_

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this is my 300th fic. It's oddly appropriate that it's Good Omens, as while I've been writing for it for almost no time, it's been one of my fandoms since I was in my early teens.
> 
> Thank you everyone who's ever kudosed or commented on a story of mine; it makes my day every time ♥️


End file.
